


NightVale Paramour

by Lazy_Martian



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil has a crush, Cecil talks about banging Carlos on the radio, M/M, Silly, Smut Drabble, definitely not canon, gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy_Martian/pseuds/Lazy_Martian
Summary: Cecil has a crush on Carlos the Scientist. Casserole resolves things.





	

He smelled of lavender chewing gum, as if he always had a piece with him. His perfectly coifed hair surrounded his face in luxurious curls. The angels have told me, living in my dreams, that we are meant to be together. He is the most wondrous scientist named Carlos. The radio station gets lonely, even with all my new interns and the floating cat in the men’s room. I want to have someone here…perhaps to hold hands with. Perhaps to contemplate my existence with, since we all live in a meaningless void without end or beginning. Would the city council approve? Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me cares a lot. I don’t want to end up in the abandoned mine shaft outside of town, even with its king beds and HBO and torture chambers. He came into my life without warning, sent by the…government to monitor the “strange” phenomena going on in our humble town of Nightvale. I don’t know what he is calling strange; all seems perfectly normal to me. Nothing out of place. Nothing to question. Nothing to alert the sheriff’s secret police of my existence. 

In other news, the PTA reported that magnificent Carlos interrupted one of their meetings, holding a black box that beeped and blinked, covered in live wires. What was it for? What is his purpose? Will he ever notice me? I hope he listens to this radio show, this completely innocent and community supported radio show. With me, your host. Carlos…scientist Carlos, in this black gaping chasm that is human life, you bring a light in the distance. Time slows down in your presence, allowing the quarks to rearrange and resurface, bringing the smell of roses and burnt toast to life. Why would you question the perfection of this beautiful suburban life we live in Nightvale? Would you want to anger the city council and the mysterious hooded figures? I would hope not. My suns always sets ten minutes off when I’m with you. The Garden of Eden is filled with stinging delights that poison your mind slowly, making you question your sanity and if you are truly alone in the universe before a painful, painful death. Carlos even stopped by the station this past week, asking about Radon Canyon, and the mysterious lights that frequently pass overhead. I told him everything I knew, which is nothing, should the city council or the sheriff’s secret police be listening. Really, what do we simple citizens know of the mysterious workings of the world? Yet his voice, his smooth, deep voice, as rich as dark chocolate, was a symphony to my ears. He could be a radio host, I bet. He could be my co-host. Carlos, my co-host. It has a nice ring to it. Telly, the blasphemous barber, shaved away his curls. Telly now wanders the desert, crying out in insanity before attempting to cut the hair of a cactus. Telly deserves his fate. But they will grow back, just like a perennial flower after a harsh winter. They will grow, longer and longer, and I will gaze at them again. All in due time.   
Today, the Nightvale Scorpions will play their rivals from Desert Bluffs High in the great American past-time football sport. Be sure to head down to the memorial stadium to support the kids. The ones from Nightvale, I mean. Desert Bluffs does not deserve to know love. Let them perish alone. If I could attend, I would wish to attend with Carlos. I wonder if he goes by Dr. Carlos. I don’t even know his last name, but what does it matter. Nothing matters here. I’ve decided I will bake him a casserole, take it down to his science-station, and leave it with my kindest regards. Maybe I will hide an invitation to dinner on the bottom of the pan, something he can only see when he finishes my delicious casserole. Maybe he will accept. Who am I kidding; after he knows how delicious my casserole is, he will have no choice but to say yes. Just like voting for the correct council members in our annual elections, saying yes to my dinner invitation is mandatory. What a funny joke! I am somewhat of a comedian. On occasion, Carlos will call the station to ask questions about “mysterious activity” around town. I don’t have much to tell him, but he says he “worries for us” because “things are worse than he thought” and “there isn’t any more time.” It’s quite a coincidence that Carlos fancies himself a comedian as well! What is there to worry about, here in the perfectly average town of Nightvale? We are just like every other small American town, thriving with the loving support of our community and prayers to a few dark entities. The new intern, Brad, makes very good coffee. I’m drinking it now, and I want to say, “Good job, Brad!” Good job. 

Hush now, for the darkness is almost upon us and has the power to silence all. Give in to your fears. Welcome to Nightvale. Another day, another sunny day, another blisteringly hot, sunny day. We must endure the punishment of the sun in order to survive. Walking by the science-station, next to Big Rico’s Pizza, I saw my casserole was gone. I hope Carlos took it. I hope he ate too much in one sitting and has a negative body image because of his insatiable hunger for my casserole, which he cannot stop eating. I would give anything to have Carlos eat my casserole with a passion. He must be available, as I have not seen him with a wife or a husband or a sweetheart of any kind. Then again, we people of Nightvale do not see much of Carlos at all, except when he comes screaming incoherent warnings about the death of God. But nonetheless, he does not seem to be in a steady relationship of any kind. That makes it all the easier to make him mine. The constant hum of his electric machines matches the hum that emanates from my own heart, full of energy and love, or my stomach, which is full of dark matter. When the news is slow, dear listeners, I write him love letters, addressed to Carlos the brilliant Scientist. I think I will slide them under the door to the science-station. The traffic today can only be described as the unending buzz of a swarm of locusts, ready to consume us all. They approach now, quickly, over the horizon. Lock your doors and bring your pets inside, should you love them. Leave an offering to appease the swarm. Appease them or risk your own life. If you can wade your way through the carnivorous swarm while keeping your legs intact, make your way down to Big Rico’s for a free slice, since nobody does one like Big Rico’s. I checked out a few books on science topics from the Nightvale Public Library; I hope my newfound knowledge of the subject will impress Carlos when we next meet. I can impress him while I feel the creases on his freshly-ironed lab coat, smelling his detergent which has notes of summer grass and honeysuckle. I wonder if Carlos prefers white or red wine. I will get him small bottles of both as gifts until I know more. The health tip of the day is to eat balanced meals, see your dentist regularly, and do not approach the dog park. No one should ever approach the dog park. Sponsored by our amazing city council. An update on Carlos, I slipped a note asking if he liked white wine under the door to his science-station and saw that, later, a reply was taped to the inside of the glass: “Only with fish. Run while you can.” What a connoisseur that man is. On his behalf, I went on a run later that evening, and boy, was it torture! The heat of the demonic star around which our system of planets rotates eternally almost made me pass out. Even if it is good for my figure, I doubt I’ll be doing that again. Sorry Carlos; I’m just not as physically fit, or artistically sculpted, or covered in rippling muscles as you. Looks like you’ll have to find a different work out buddy to share your perfect body with. Actually, don’t share it with anyone; run alone, in the dark. No one but your true love deserves to witness your glorious skin, tan and glistening with sweat, in the light of day. No one. I should call my mother; she worries about me sometimes, and I’ll let her know everything is going swell.

I’ve got a date with the man of my dreams, and sometimes my nightmares. After Genius Scientist Carlos heard my expert reporting on his work and daily life in Nightvale, he called me at home and said he’d like to talk, perhaps over dinner. I’ll make another casserole. The question now, citizens of Nightvale, is what I should wear for my rendezvous with mysterious, brilliant Carlos. Call in with advice! Go ahead, think about the future; the city council permits it just this once for the betterment of our community. Don’t worry, the trackers embedded in your skulls will not trigger an explosion if you do so—for now. Most days, it is best to leave such advanced thinking to the sheriff’s secret police. And now, a letter from a listener! How exciting. It reads: “If you fear your house may be haunted by malicious spirits, do not preoccupy yourself with meaningless worries. We will all perish someday, perhaps someday soon, and be doomed to walk the earth as restless spirits for all of eternity. It is a natural process and so being afraid of such things is pointless. Do nothing and try to avoid thinking about our short, empty lives on this rock hurling through space. The ghosts will claim you soon enough.” It has no signature. In fact, it has no return address…nor is it actually addressed to the station. The envelope is just printed with “Cecil” across the front. Now that I think about it, the letter was resting on my desk when I arrived this morning…what a fun surprise from a mysterious and spontaneous member of the Nightvale community! Thank you for sharing your advice; I’m sure many of our listeners will take it to heart. I’m afraid I have to sign off early, faithful patrons; my date with the always-handsome scientist Carlos is rapidly approaching, and I must get ready. Coming up next is an hour of intern Brad tuning his ukulele, live! What a treat—so listen well, Nightvale…and goodnight.   
   
“Nightvale After Dark.” A new show for our adult community—please, do listen. There will be poetry and nudity and stories of the personal nature. Children, tune out; the sheriff’s secret police monitor listener activity and will systematically eliminate minors who attempt to indulge here. Other patrons, turn your radios loud. Hear my voice and try to guess what I’ve been doing. If you answered ‘scientist Carlos,’ you’d be very, very correct. Our date this evening went better than I expected. I can confirm that he did eat my casserole, and a few other things as well. He ate them thoroughly and with expertise. Carlos, with knowledge of one much older than his years, ancient, forbidden knowledge, terrorized my ephemeral form like a previously dangerous pack of feral, libertarian dogs. It is too unfortunate that such a mortal coil cannot last forever; the coil belonging to Carlos is divine perfection. Coiled and striking like a deadly snake, injecting my heart with poison that solidifies my warm human blood, injecting other things in other places, too. Pardon me for a moment, I have to wipe this steam from the lenses of my bifocals. How did that get there? It must have materialized, clouding my vision like the Glow Cloud obscured the skies of Nightvale all those weeks ago. (All hail the Glow Cloud.) There are not many words with which I can describe my encounter, but suffice to say it was, like the companions of Old Woman Josie who lives out by the car lot, angelic. This was the first time in recent memory when my sweater vest was cast into a rumpled pile upon the carpet instead of hung and put away neatly, as it belongs. I remember what he said, or at least moaned, and it was something like the inexplicable lights in Radon Canyon no longer matter. The incorrect time of sunset no longer matters. The invisible earthquakes no longer matter. Well, I can say that tonight’s earthquake was anything but invisible. But these things that previously engrossed him so have lost their meaning when he is with me. Such things are what scientist Carlos whispered in my ear, leaning over my prostrate body. Finally, there was something inside of me besides dust and anti-matter. The feeling of him within me is unknowable, in a similar fashion to the incomprehensible shape of which no one speaks that may or may not have once existed in Grove Park. I feel like a middle schooler receiving his first valentine—aware of his brief, pointless existence and frightened by his lack of ability to change that. If love is real, I may be suffering from it. Well, nothing is truly real and reality is an illusion planted in our minds by robotic overlords, but still. What I felt in my heart and in my body was as real as it will get. Where do we come from? I can tell you what Carlos came from, and it is not a star dying at the edge of the universe. Tonight, I am unable to meet the eyes of the men’s room cat.


End file.
